


The Spectrum of Love

by sungrass



Category: RWBY
Genre: Crack pairing played serious, F/F, Yang is Chaotic Neutral matchmaker, sun is best wingman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungrass/pseuds/sungrass
Summary: Desperate to dispel her feelings for Blake, Ilia allows Yang to set up a blind date. There's no way this could go wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

“How are you my love?” Weiss asked, caressing Blake’s back.

“Divine, as long as I am with you,” Blake said in an absent tone. Her eyes were glazed, staring at nothing from her chair. A sneer crept across Weiss’ face.

“Good. Tomorrow, we will embark on the grandest chapter of our lives. Oh how I’ve waited for—”

A commotion sounded from outside the door to the drawing room. The doors burst open as two guards flew through them and sprawled on the ground, unconscious. A cloaked figure strode through the door, her boots echoing on the hardwood floor. The figure drew back her hood revealing long brown hair. Weiss scoffed at the girl.

“I killed Sienna Khan and her rabid bodyguard when I took Blake. I captured her parents and her irritating monkey friend when they tried to rescue her. Why do you think you’ll succeed where they’ve failed?”

Ilia drew her weapon from her cloak and brandished it at Weiss. “Because I love her.”

Weiss nodded in acquiescence, then raised her own blade in a ready stance. “Love isn’t invincible,” Weiss said with a smirk.

“That’s why I brought these!” Ilia whipped her cloak open to release a half-dozen smoke grenades. Smoke filled the room and Ilia dashed to one side, pulling a pair of goggles over her eyes. The smoke obscured Ilia’s vision as well, but Ilia had fought enough in poor visibility that she was still able navigate the cloud to Blake.

“Blake,” she whispered into her ear, tugging at her wrist. “Let’s go, now!” Blake barely registered Ilia’s presence, looking at her with that same glassy stare. Ilia stood and heaved on her wrist, but Blake wouldn’t budge from her chair. Ilia heard a small rush of air and let go of Blake’s wrist, somersaulting backwards away from her as Weiss drove her rapier into the spot where she’d been standing.

“How dumb do you think I am?” Weiss shouted. “You came here for her, and you resorted to this stupid trick to avoid me. Of course you’d run straight to her!”

Ilia retreated, then crept through the smoke trying to flank Weiss. She’d moved to what she thought was Weiss’ right, when a blue light flashed in the smoke. A loud drone like a helicopter’s rotor filled the air, and wind blew through the room. The smoke cleared, revealing Weiss and a translucent blue, car-sized Lancer, the source of the sudden gust.

Weiss’ summon rushed at Ilia. Ilia dove under it, rolling to her feet and clashing weapons with Weiss. She headbutted the Schnee matriarch, breaking her focus and driving her back. The Lancer winked out of existence and Ilia pressed her attack, doing all she could to prevent Weiss from summoning another minion.

Weiss leapt back and up, forming a glyph behind her in midair. But before she could leap off it, Ilia extended her own rapier into its whip form, coiling it around Weiss’ ankle. She pulled hard, yanking the heiress down and shocking her with the dust in her weapon. Weiss screamed and tumbled to the ground. She pushed herself to her knees, gasping for breath. Ilia retracted her whip, flourished it, and leapt at Weiss, stabbing the point of her weapon down.

Before Ilia could strike the final blow, something dark flew across the bottom of her field of vision, trailing a thin line behind it. A ribbon coiled around her upper body, binding her arms to her side. She felt herself stop, then travel backward in midair. She slammed into the ground, and spots filled her vision as her head snapped back into the floor. Blinking, she followed the ribbon across the floor behind her. Blake held the other end taut, her trance only creased by mild concern. Ilia’s eyes widened. From the opposite direction, she heard a dry, prim laugh.

 

“Every truly great Schnee finds a new use for their glyphs, increasing the power of our descendants’ Semblance,” Weiss said, stroking her rapier as she walked forward. “My contribution was a hypnotic glyph. It takes some time for it to work, especially on someone as stubborn as Blake, but once someone’s mine, they’re mine for good.”

Weiss placed the tip of her blade at Ilia’s throat, lifting her chin. “I could just have her strangle you, but I don’t want to sully my bride’s hands the night before our wedding. Any last words?”

Ilia felt her eyes well up. She looked back at Blake with pleading eyes, but Blake barely registered Ilia’s presence.

“Blake, this isn’t you. You’re stronger than this. I know you won’t betray me for a Schnee. Please don’t do this, I love you so much!”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “Not the most original or eloquent last words, but I’ve heard worse.”

With the slightest thrust of her wrist, Weiss drove the point of her sword into Ilia’s throat. But instead of a piercing sensation, Ilia felt like she’d been pushed off a cliff, and she fell, plummeting down into darkness.

…

Ilia struck the floor with a soft thump. She tore at the blankets until she could sit upright. She looked around for a second, disoriented. Then it all came back: Travelling to Atlas after the Battle at Haven, a brief legal scuffle to give Weiss control of the Schnee mansion for their group’s use, and being granted one of the few single rooms—one that happened to be sandwiched between Qrow’s and Yang’s, the latter of whom was snoring quite loudly. Ilia briefly recounted her dream. Then she pressed her face into her hands and moaned.

“God, I need to get laid.”

…

Unable to fall back asleep, Ilia wandered the halls of the mansion. She felt naked doing so unarmed. Weiss had instructed her servants to treat all of them as honored guests, but this was still _The Schnee Mansion_. You didn’t just forget the things that family had done, despite the kindness of a few members.

_But forgetting isn’t an issue, if you’ve never known_ , Ilia thought as she wandered into the dining room.

“Oh hey!” Sun said, waving from his seat. He had a platter of exotic fruit in front of him and was wearing a white velour bathrobe over his pants.

Ilia narrowed her eyes at Sun. “What are you doing—and _why_ are you wearing that?”

“I’m having a midnight snack,” he said. “And the question is why _aren’t_ you wearing the fancy bathrobe from your room?”

Ilia scoffed and turned to leave. One of Sun’s clones appeared in front of her, scratching its chin curiously but not forcing her to stay.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Ilia debated walking away. Then she sighed, turned around, and took a seat to Sun’s right. “I had a weird dream.”

“White Fang flashbacks?” he asked.

“No. I—”

Ilia stopped. Even with Sun’s forgiveness and her contribution at Haven, the trust she’d established with the group was a delicate thing. If she divulged this, would she tarnish what little faith the group had in her intentions? Or would they assume she’d act like a jilted lover again at the first opportunity? She clenched her fists. This was going to tear her apart if she didn’t say it to someone. Sun was far from the perfect person to talk about this for several reasons, but he was the best option she had.

“I had a dream that I was fighting Weiss.”

“That’s normal for most people,” Sun said around a mouthful of mango. “Even ones who aren’t Faunus.”

“We were fighting over Blake,” Ilia said, quieter.

Sun set down the mango and turned to Ilia. “Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s not even the first time I’ve had this dream, just the first time with Weiss. Other times they’ve involved the other members of Blake’s team, you, Adam—there was a really weird one where I was fighting alongside that girl with the hammer; she was fighting Blake while I fought her boyfriend. They’ve been happening since Haven. Now that we don’t have an impending terrorist attack to stop, my thoughts are wandering elsewhere.”

“Does Blake know about this?”

“No, and you can’t tell her! We talked about things on the boat, and after she reunited with her team, but she doesn’t know about the dreams. She can’t. She has already been more generous than I deserve, if she finds out—”

“Ilia,” Sun said. “How long have you been carrying a torch for Blake?”

Ilia coughed and looked away.

“So a pretty long time,” Sun said. “You can’t expect to move on overnight. Your head might say ‘Let it go‘, and your heart might say it too, but your heart’s also going to be a jerk and refuse to move on—and the part of you that wants to pin her to a wall and tongue-wrestle her is never going to shut up, even if it gets quieter over time.”

Ilia flashed bright pink and leaned onto the table, burying her head in her arms. “Am I really that transparent?”

Sun snorted. “Nah, I’m a guy. I’ve gone through this plenty of times—though not with the complications you have.”

Ilia looked up. “You don’t think this makes me a bad person?”

“Have you tried to steal her clothes or peek at her in the shower?”

“No,” Ilia said, glaring at Sun.

“Then I don’t see a problem. People think thoughts that make them feel guilty all the time, you’re not a bad person unless you actually act on them.” Sun looked around, making sure no one else had woken up, then leaned in towards Ilia. “Perfect example: Every time Weiss nags someone, I imagine waiting until she’s asleep, then drawing big angry eyebrows on her face with a marker.”

Ilia laughed. A smile crossed Sun’s face, and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re fine. I’m not going to lie, it’ll suck for a while, but someday you’re going to find a nice girl who’s into skinny ninja gymnasts, and you’ll be disgustingly cute together.”

Ilia returned his smile and traded grips with him. “Thank you Sun.”

“Anytime. I won’t tell Blake about this. I think she’d understand, but that doesn’t mean she’d be comfortable talking about it.”

Ilia nodded in agreement. Sun nudged the platter towards Ilia. She picked a peach from the platter and bit into it. Sun returned to his mango.

“So I guess all that’s left is to set you up with a smoking hot Faunus girl.”

Ilia coughed, almost choking on the peach. “Please don’t! I’m not a casual hookup kind of person—not usually.”

“It can be more traditional,” Sun said. “I’m not sure I’d trust Ruby, but Yang and Weiss might know someone who’d be into you.”

“I am not comfortable with that. Weiss has been friendly, but I’d feel weird having a Schnee play matchmaker for me. And I’m pretty sure Yang hates my guts.”

“Nah, she doesn’t.”

“To be honest, I kinda did for a little bit.”

Ilia darted behind Sun’s chair, her skin turning black. She peeked from behind him to see Yang leaning against the doorway, her arms folded.

“What are you doing up?” Sun asked.

Yang tapped where her prosthesis joined what remained of her arm. “Phantom limb pain. I don’t get it often, but when I do it wakes me up.” She walked around the table and sat in the chair to the right of Ilia’s. Ilia slowly settled back into her chair, moving it slightly closer to Sun.

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

“Most of it,” Yang said. She gave Ilia a little smile. “Enough to revise my opinion of you. You’re not trying to sneak into a relationship through the back door—or horribly betray us—you actually want to be a good friend to Blake. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you sooner, but I’ve been short on trust recently.”

“Even if you weren’t, I deserved it.”

“Not anymore!” Yang hooked an arm around Ilia’s shoulder. “Let me make it up to you. Sun’s right, I have a couple leads if you’re interested.”

Ilia’s stomach churned. She felt hesitant relief at Yang’s unexpected acceptance, but she also felt terrified at the prospect of meeting someone else. What if the other person didn’t accept her? What if Ilia’s past scared her away? And beneath it all, screaming louder than the other questions, what if she was throwing away her chance at being with Blake?

_No_ , a voice inside her said. _She’s still your best friend. That will never change, but it will never grow past that either. If you really care about her, you know what to do._

Ilia focused on that voice, ignoring the others. “I’d say I’m very interested. Thank you.”

Yang grinned. “Thank me at the six-month reunion. I don’t know how well you two will click yet.”

Ilia drew back, blinking. “Wait, you know someone in the group who’s—like me?”

“No, but she’s from Atlas. One important question before we proceed: Would you feel weird going on a date with another cat Faunus?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks goes out to Glensather for providing feedback on this chapter

Two nights after Yang had contacted her friend, she accompanied Ilia to introduce the two of them, with Sun tagging along for the ride. Ilia shivered as they walked along the cobblestones, hugging herself and pulling her jacket closer to body.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen you get cold.” Sun said, his own body shuddering. In a rare concession to practicality, he’d tucked his tail into his pants and worn an actual shirt. Granted, he’d worn one tight enough that his abs showed through, but he’d still been cowed by the cold.

“I’m from Atlas,” Ilia said. “It’s not the cold making me shake.”

“Just relax and have fun, it’s not like you’re marrying her. Also, I’m not sure if it works differently when both people are girls, but don’t try to get her to put out on the first date.”

“Actually, Neon might be okay with that,” Yang said with a pondering tone

Ilia clenched her teeth. “Thank you both for your thoughtful advice,” she muttered.

Yang drew alongside her and rubbed her shoulder. “It’ll work out. Either you two will hit it off, or you won’t, and you’ll get a good story out of it. Then we’ll find you someone else.”

Another part of Yang pressed against Ilia, making her already racing pulse spike higher. She broke away from her, grateful part of her stealth training had included suppressing nervous sweating. She took a deep breath, focusing for a moment on the weather and weapons maintenance. When she’d cleared her head, she spoke again:

“You’ve barely told me anything about her.” She glared at Sun. “Neither of you have.”

“The whole point of dating is to get to know someone,” Yang said, elbowing Ilia’s side. “If I tell you anything, you’ll miss out on the fun.”

“Plus, it’s probably best you go in without any preconceptions,” Sun said.

“Sun!” Yang said.

Ilia rolled her eyes. “You two really know how to fill a person with confidence.”

…

They arrived at a large outdoor ice rink set in an even larger plaza. Clusters of people stood around the edge, chatting amongst themselves and watching groups of skaters circle the ice like schools of fish. Yang found an empty spot around the rink’s wall, planted both hands on top of it, and pushed herself up for a better view. After a moment she frowned.

“She’s not on the ice yet.”

“How can you tell?” Ilia asked.

“She doesn’t exactly blend into a crowd, even outside of Atlas.” Yang dropped back down, dusting the snow off her palms while she continued to watch the rink. “Maybe she’s behind a group of really tall guys, but—”

A bright, multicolored blur slid between Ilia and Sun, spraying Yang with a cascade of snow. Before Yang could finish sputtering in surprise, a small girl with orange hair leapt up and wrapped her arms around Yang’s shoulders. She nuzzled Yang in a way that was intended to needle rather than show affection as the taller girl tried to pry her off.

“Welcome to Atlas, Top Heavy!”

Ilia gawked at the newcomer. Despite Ilia’s disapproval of many facets of Atlesian society, she’d readily adopted the country’s buttoned down style—her winter clothing consisted of a jacket and a set of pants that were simply a looser, long-sleeved version of her White Fang stealth suit. This girl had taken the opposite approach and given Atlas’ sense of decorum—not to mention that of anyone with taste—the fashion equivalent of a sharp poke in the eye. The powder blue jacket wasn’t particularly outrageous, but she had also worn a pink skater skirt, plum tights with rainbows corkscrewing down her legs, and a lime green scarf. Her brightly colored hair and highlights enhanced the deliberate clash of color, as did the jewelry on her flicking…tail. Ilia’s eyebrows rose. There were _a lot_ of words that Ilia would use to describe her blind date, but shy was definitely not one of them.

Yang grimaced. “You’re extra-cheerful today.”

Neon hopped off of Yang and grinned at her. “Of course! How often do I get to see my favorite blonde brickhouse?”

Yang’s cheeks turned rosy. She cleared her throat and gestured at Ilia. “Anyway, Neon this is Ilia; Ilia, Neon.”

Neon spun in place on her rollerblades. Her eyes lit up, and she glanced Ilia up and down as she coasted towards her.

“You’ll definitely be a better skating partner than Top Heavy.”

Ilia blinked. “Wait, we’re going ice skating?”

“It’s why we met here. What kind of Atlas girl doesn’t know how to ice skate?”

Something about her tone made Ilia narrow her eyes. “The kind who doesn’t have time to waste on silly distractions and colorblind fashion sense.”

Sun made a move to interrupt, but Yang placed a hand on his shoulder and lifted a finger to her lips. Neon placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to one side. “I can teach you, it’s no big deal. But, you are pretty willowy. You might be right, Twig; we should go grab coffee instead. If we go skating you’ll just get blown across the ice if someone sneezes on you.”

Ilia folded her arms and locked eyes with Neon. “My name is Ilia, not ‘Twig’ ”—she smirked at Neon—“And once you teach me the basics, I bet I could skate circles around you.”

Neon grinned at Ilia. “Let’s get you some skates.”

Sun and Yang watched Neon lead Ilia to the rental counter. Sun rubbed the back of his neck.

“This is either the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst,” said Sun, giving Yang an apprehensive look.

Yang clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh ye of little faith.”

…

For the third time in two minutes, Ilia slipped and sprawled sideways on the ice. She cursed and rose to one knee, stopping to massage her wrist. Neon coasted to a stop next to her.

“You’re moving your leg too straight. You need to point your toes out and push your back leg diagonally, not straight behind you. It’s not all bad though; you’re remembering to make fists when you fall.”

“Diagonally,” Ilia repeated, losing herself in focus. She climbed to a fully standing position, gathered herself for a moment, then pushed and skated forward. She pushed again, then a third time, gliding halfway down the rink. Then she tried to push and turn, and fell a fourth time. Neon caught up to her again.

“Hey, if this isn’t fun anymore we can stop. There’s plenty of places we can grab a drink, or food—”

Ilia quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do I look like a quitter to you?”

Neon giggled. “I like your competitive streak.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure,” Ilia muttered, getting up again. “I’ve got much better balance in boots than I do in skates.  Give me a little more time and everything else should transfer over.”

“You might learn faster if you had a better teacher,” a male voice said.

Ilia snapped from her reverie to watch a tall dark-haired boy in a pea coat glide between her and Neon.

“I’m Irving,” he said, flashing her a smile. “I know it’s intimidating to ask for help from someone you don’t know, especially from a guy, but I’d be happy to help. You don’t have to pretend to be friends with some stray Faunus girl just to stay upright.”

Neon opened her mouth to retort, but Ilia cut her off with a loud relieved laugh.

“Oh thank you so much!” Ilia said. She removed a glove to shake Irving’s hand. He reciprocated and took her hand in his. Ilia pressed her free hand to her chest. “I was just too shy to turn her away, but I was a wreck on the inside. Thank goodness I was wearing gloves; you just never know where they’ve been. I could have caught some awful disease!”

Irving chuckled. “You seem healthy to me.”

“Honestly, it’s a miracle!” Ilia said, leaning in. “They’re usually easy to spot like that one, but sometimes they just blend in like normal humans.”—Ilia flared her skin bright red and turned her hair hazard yellow—“You can never really know who you’re dealing with.”

Irving yanked his hand back and skated off in disgust. Ilia brandished a bare middle finger at him, then turned her skin back to normal and pulled her glove back on. She turned to Neon to find her caught in a fit of giggles.

“Has anyone told you you’re kinda hot when you’re feisty?”

Ilia felt a warm rush inside her at Neon’s comment. She smirked at her date.

“Finish up these lessons and I’ll show you just how feisty I can be.”

…

After a few fall-free laps around the rink, Ilia broke off from the crowd. She headed towards an oval-shaped area in the center of the ice sectioned off by a net fence, intended for those wanting to skate faster. Colored lines ran under the ice that resembled those on a running track. Ilia slipped inside the fence, Neon right behind her. Neon drew alongside Ilia.

“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you because you told off that jerk earlier.”

“Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you dress like a child,” Ilia replied. She pulled her arm across her body, stretching it. “First one around the track wins?”

Neon nodded, then pointed her chin at a clock mounted over the far end of the rink. “It’s almost nine. We’ll start when the bell rings.”

The two of them lined up next to each other on a line under the ice halfway down one of the track’s straight sections. They crouched and looked up at the clock, preparing for a sprint down the ice. The minute hand ticked up, closer, closer, _closer_. The bell chimed nine o’clock and they sped off.

Neon gained an early lead, her smaller frame letting her make quicker strides, but Ilia’s longer legs let her make more efficient strides, closing the gap. But as they reached the corner, Ilia slowed to keep from tumbling over, taking a wider path to the outside edge of the track. Neon crouched closer to the ice, hugging the inner edge as she sped around the curve.

Ilia grit her teeth and came out of the curve, skating along the outer edge as she caught up to Neon again. As she reached the second turn, she moved from the outside edge to the inside, drawing alongside Neon as they rounded the final curve. Neon caught her from the corner of her eye, and sped up. Ilia matched her speed, hunching over and leaning forward—Ilia felt a lurch in her stomach, telling her to lean back, to save herself the embarrassment of losing because she’d faceplanted. So she decided not to lose.

Ilia pushed twice more as she skated forward. On the third stride she felt herself slip, but instead of trying to pull back upright or fall sideways onto her thigh she dove into the fall, looking for a moment like she was attempting to fly. Then she belly flopped onto the ice and slid forward, sliding across the finish line with her fingers outstretched, beating Neon by an inch—and sliding well past the finish line into the net at the far end.

Ilia slid into the net. It stretched, absorbing her momentum, then sprang back into place, spitting her back onto the ice. She curled in on herself, clutching her stomach. Then she lay face down on the ice, letting it soothe the sting in her midsection through her jacket. She closed her eyes and let out a satisfied groan. A moment later she heard skates approaching. She looked up to see Neon offering a hand to help her stand.

“I think this means I’m paying for coffee,” Neon said.

…

Atlas’ climate made gardens prohibitively expensive for all but the wealthiest private citizens. But the Schnee Dust Company excavated more than Dust, leaving the Kingdom with an ample supply of stone for constructing elegant plazas like the one that had housed the skating rink. Ilia and Neon meandered through one, slowly circling a large marble statue. Ilia sipped her coffee while Neon explained how she had met Yang in the Vytal tournament.

Ilia smiled despite herself. Neon was louder and more spirited than she preferred, but there was an earnest, endearing quality to her energy. Her eyes sparkled with it, her hair seemed radiant with it, and her arms seemed to suffuse the air around her with it as she made animated gestures to accompany her story. Ilia realized she hadn’t actually heard her for last few minutes. She gave her head a little shake and focused on Neon as she reached her story’s conclusion:

“…we might have lost in the end, but it was an amazing match. And for one beautiful moment, I left Weiss Schnee speechless, and that is something they will _never_ take away from me!”

Ilia chuckled. “Weiss is okay, but I still wish she came with a mute button.”

“The weird part is that we probably would have tolerated each other if she’d gone to Atlas Academy.”

Ilia looked over Neon and blinked. “I have a hard time believing that, let alone the fact that you actually attended the Academy. Maybe Ironwood is okay, but the rest of the students aren’t that open-minded.”

Neon gave Ilia a look. “Girl, do you really think I walked around school dressed like this? The Vytal Festival was the first time I expressed myself in public. There were a few people I trusted, like my teammates, and there were a couple discreet clubs I’d party in when I wanted to blow off steam, but when I was at school I dressed in the uniform, wore my hair super boring, and tucked my tail under my skirt like this:”

Neon quickly coiled her tail and tucked it under the waist of her skirt. It wasn’t as subtle as Ilia’s skin, but she was surprised to see just how well Neon had concealed her Faunus trait. She looked like just another short human girl. One with a smaller backside than Blake’s, but just as nicely shaped.

“You like what you see?”

Ilia stammered and flushed pink. When she finally met Neon’s eyes, she was grinning back at her.

“I was just impressed you managed to stay concealed that long,” Ilia finally said, looking away. “That takes a lot of discipline, not to mention luck and skill.”

“Oh absolutely! I wouldn’t have been able to keep it on the ‘D.L’ if I’d had your trait.”

“I learned to control my skin pretty quickly; you would have been able to do the same.”

“I mean I wouldn’t have been able to keep myself from showing off. It’s really cool.”

Ilia gave Neon a small smile. “Thanks.”

Neon shrugged. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m not really sold on the whole ‘grayscale with some blue’ palette Atlas likes. If I had your skin, I’d be shifting colors like an aurora.” She laced her fingers with Ilia’s. Ilia flinched, but after a moment she returned the pressure. “It’s not all peaches and roses,” Neon continued, “But Atlas is a little better than it was a few years ago. You can be open if you want to.”

“I’m not ready for that here,” Ilia said.

“You didn’t feel that way when that guy was rude to me.”

“That was different. He was bothering us.”

Neon bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “Well, when you’re ready I can introduce you to some friendly Northerners. Plus, you got me.”

“I don’t know how long we’ll be staying in Atlas.” Ilia gave her a wry look. “And you’re assuming I want to see you again.”

Neon returned the look and held up their linked hands. “I don’t think that assumption is too wild.” Neon glanced down at her scroll with her free hand, and looked back up. “I need to run. Normally I’d offer to walk you back—”

Ilia waved a hand. “That’s fine, I can find my way home.”

“Cool! Listen, I get that you’re here for business, but if you do stay long enough to have a little more fun”—Neon hopped up to pull Ilia down by the shoulders, and gave her a quick kiss on the lips, drawing her upper lip, then her bottom between both of her own. Ilia flinched in surprise, but didn’t turn away. She awkwardly held Neon by the waist, distracted by the wish that they’d found a bench to mitigate their height difference. Then she felt a hand slide up her thigh from her knee to her hip, and all rational thought disappeared into a startled shudder. Neon pulled away and gave her a small smile.

“I‘ll catch you later, _Aurora_.” Neon turned and sauntered off. She looked over her shoulder after a moment. “Call me!”

Ilia, who had stood dumbstruck a moment before, shook her head and called back: “I don’t have your number!”

“Yeah you do!” Neon pointed at her waist, then turned and faded into the night.

Ilia checked her pants pocket on the leg Neon had grasped and found a piece of paper with a number and a heart on it. A smile warmed her face. She placed the number back in her pocket and began to walk home through the snow.

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally a one-shot with a throwaway joke line at the end. But, ideas have a strange way of evolving. After a brief discussion with a friend on Discord, an idea occurred to me: Could I write Neon of all people seriously, especially in a crack ship like this? The rest is history.


End file.
